On a recent date, the prospective guy, let’s call him “Adam,” and I met for a quick “looksie,” the one-and-done drink to help you decide if you want to go on an actual date.
Adam and I were having a good time; we shared the basics of who we are, what we do, blah blah blah, and swapped stories of bad dates — those dating prospects that looked nothing like their pictures or talked incessantly and never asked a question about us, and so on.
We both felt a sense of relief that we appeared “normal.” He even remarked how refreshing it was to connect with a “smart woman” who wasn’t playing the texting back and forth game.
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